


Jim Moriarty and the Discovery of Magic

by fabricdragon



Series: Amnesia Shuffle [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Amnesia, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:08:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Jim Moriarty is a semi rational man- certainly not superstitious- living in a completely non magical world... until he finds a strange (and good looking) man with a stick (that is apparently a wand) behind a dumpster...





	1. the wand chooses the wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the wand chooses the wizard... and the follower chooses the leader

Jim was slumming: he did this sometimes, wandered through some area outside of London- or inside of London- wondering if anybody would be stupid enough to try to bother him. Some days he actually hoped people would, other days he was simply enjoying the fact that there was something about him-even to people that didn't know who he was- that usually kept the more intelligent predators at bay. In any event, he had just come out of one of the restaurants that he owned, through several proxies and several other people that owed him things, when he found an unconscious man huddled back near the dumpster.

Not that it was unusual to find unconscious people near dumpsters, mind you...but this one was unusual.

First of all he was in something that looked like formal educational robes, and they were torn and singed- in fact actively smoking. He had odd black streaks across his skin ,as though in the last stages of sepsis...but he looked otherwise fit and healthy…

A puzzle. 

Jim hated puzzles, but they did keep one from getting bored…

He called a few people and had the man hauled off to someplace more private, and marginally cleaner.

…

Under the scholar's robes- and Jim couldn't figure out what school they were, which annoyed him- the man had been wearing boots of an odd make, probably custom, and carrying a pack and pouches full of herbs that were NOT the usual ones: nothing people took recreationally. He also had a pouch of odd coins that were clearly professionally minted- and most were real gold- but of no country ever known and no listed award or memorial coin.

The black streaks crossing his skin almost seemed… alive, and they were decidedly uncomfortable to touch… 

Jim got onto the dark web and started threatening, bribing, and calling favors. It took him most of the day to get someone willing and able to answer him, but the answers made no sense…

Yes, the fellow was carrying an ornately shaped stick, why?

Wand? What kind of nonsense…?

Wizard war?! There’s no such THING!

His contact nervously insisted there was, and that there was a vow of secrecy and… spells to erase your memory if you found out?

Jim wanted desperately to not believe a word of it, but he had correctly predicted the man was carrying the stick, and described the coins...

Jim sent the man a photo of the black streaks on his chest and the man identified it as some… spell or another that would likely kill him unless treated with… some peculiar herbal concoction…

He paid his contact- and if this was some kind of elaborate hoax he would do something horrible to everyone involved- and started trying to identify the herbs needed to cure the man: he was carrying some of them in his pouches, the rest were able to be taken quietly from the botanical gardens..

Jim fed him the resulting tea, and used some of it as a poultice on the streaks… and watched as the black streaks faded slowly, oddly, leaving behind scars- some faint, some not- and what looked like a faded brand or tattoo on his arm.

“You better be worth all of this trouble,” Jim muttered.

“Hrr?” The strange man made a noise and slowly opened his eyes: they were an intense blue, and he looked around the room in a confused fashion before finally settling on Jim. “who… are you?”

“Jim Moriarty: I saved your life for some reason,” Jim raised an eyebrow at him, “so you better be useful to me.”

Most men were put out by that bald a statement; he just nodded slowly. “Fair… ok...where am i?”

“One of my safehouses in London,” Jim poured him a glass of water and helped him sit up and sip at it, “Incidentally you’ll have scars- the herbs kept you from dying but it left scars.” after looking him over thoughtfully Jim couldn't help a small smile, “They suit you, though- don’t hurt your looks any.”

He looked around again in confusion, his hand opening and closing as though…

“Are you looking for this?” Jim held up the ‘wand’ he’d had on him.

“Maybe?”

Jim carefully handed it to him- the man had insisted a wizard could cast spells with it, and it was dangerous, but as far as Jim could tell it was a fancy assed STICK. He looked relieved to have it in hand though.

“You saved my life,” he said slowly, “And… helped me get better… and...i owe you and need to be useful?”

“Yes.”

“And i’m in London? And this… this is mine?” he waved the stick and little sparks of color flitted around the tip of it, which had NOT happened when Jim had handled it!

Jim shook himself loose of staring at the sparks of light coming from the _ STICK damn it, it's a STICK! _ And agreed, “I assume it was yours since you have a holster for it that was on your leg, and.. It lights up when you wave it? Ah… it didn’t work for me, of course…”

“... the wand chooses the wizard…” he muttered and rubbed at his leg, “where?”

Jim handed him the holster and waved at the rest of his belongings in a box, “Your clothing was ruined, except for your boots, but i kept it in another box in case you wanted to see it.”

He put the wand into the holster and pawed through his things, touching everything carefully.

“It's all there- unless you lost it before I found you.” Jim hesitated, “I did have to use some of your herbs to help heal you- i got the rest from the botanical gardens.”

“Okay… I owe you… I work for you… that’s… familiar … snakes?”

“Snakes? I prefer a spider motif, but snakes are lovely, why?”

“I don't know...i ah… I just have one question…”

“Make it a good one,” Jim nodded at him.

“Who am i?”


	2. second chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I give you a name and make you mine...

Jim walked away from his computers with a headache: his contact had been helpful RIGHT up to the point that he sent him a picture of the tattoo on his mystery man’s arm- to see if it meant anything helpful- at which point the man babbled about the wizard war, and sides, and … was very firm about not getting involved any further.

When he walked back into the room the man in question was still staring fascinated at the television. He’d caught on quickly enough, but he genuinely acted as though he was completely unfamiliar with remote controls, and only marginally familiar with television at all.

“Well… it appears that that tattoo is… some kind of gang, tong, or organized crime emblem…” JIm frowned, “which is an issue since you work for me now.”

He looked down at his arm and rubbed at it, “I… don't think i like it very much…”

“Well, we’ll have it removed.” Jim watched him for any sign of balking or arguing, but he looked… relieved? “Have you remembered anything at all?”

“Those…” he waved at the television. “Rifles… I know those.”

“Do you? Hmm… now that could be useful… I can take you to a range and we can find out just how much you know them…”

…

A lot: the man knew them inside and out- literally, he could field strip and re-assemble one blindfolded- and he was a marksman of the highest order.

Jim smiled as his new acquisition broke the rifle down and put it away, “Now THAT is a useful skill… I assume you know knives since you were carrying one…”

“I think so? It… felt familiar.”

“I need to call you something, you know; I don't suppose you’ve remembered anything?”

He bit his lip endearingly and shook his head, “No, sir, no… its… there’s a lot of … shadows and… like wisps i can't quite pin down.”

“Well… Jim sighed and pulled up his favorite baby name webpage, “ lets see what a good name for a sniper is… i use this all the time for fake names...huh… Gabriel? Michael? No.. too common, too many people named that in any gathering ...St Sebastian is archers, but that could go for snipers…” he looked up at the man, “Yeah, you could be a Sebastian.”

“If you say so…”

“Sebastian it is then… ok, then for a last name we probably want to make you of Irish descent… I obviously have known you since we were children or something… your fake background can be good family friends with my fake background…”

“Heh. you… you do this a lot?”

“Oh yes, i probably have five or six passports- never know when a new identity will be useful.” Jim paged past the ubiquitous and far too sterotyped Irish surnames and ended up settling on Moran: it was a large and far flung clan and it had the added benefit of being the same last name as a spectacularly idiotic client of his. 

“There: Sebastian Moran...hmmm…” Jim always enjoyed setting up a good fake identity- it was fun. “Ooh, I know… we’ll give you a dead boring first name, and Sebastian as your middle name… but you prefer it and use that one! John Sebastian Moran… family calls you Jack and you hate it.”

The man-Sebastian- mostly looked a bit puzzled and a bit amused, “Ok… so… I use Sebastian…” he nodded, “And I've known you for years?”

“Yes.” Jim nodded firmly.

“And you can remove this? I’d really rather not have it- i don’t know why i do have it but I don't like it.” he said holding out his arm.

Jim frowned: _ the tattoo? Whatever it was was even more faded than it had been? _ He took another photo of it and compared…. _ Yes, it was fading… _ “looks like it may go away all by itself?” he hated how puzzled he sounded, but it was just one more weird thing that he couldn't explain, like sticks that threw colored sparks.

“I guess? Can we make it go away faster?”

Jim shrugged, “well i was going to suggest a cover tattoo… you said you like snakes?”

“No… I thought you did?”

“ I don't mind them, but…” he looked the man over… “hmm...no, i don't think a snake tattoo would suit you, I'll have to think about it. In the meantime this seems to be fading more, and… well, you can cover it with a long sleeve shirt.”

“Yes sir.”

“Which brings us to the next order of business… shopping. We need to get you more clothes, and then more weapons…”

He looked dubious about clothes but the idea of weapons perked him right up. _ A Man after my own heart. _

By the time they were done shopping Jim had even more of a headache: he didn't know the currency. He had an English accent, overlaid with some odd accents- probably from travel- and he knew about MONEY… but he didn't seem to know the currency, and he had no idea about Euros… or how much things cost at all.

He followed Jim as though…

As though he had no clue where he was, or who he was and Jim was the only thing that made sense in the whole world.

…

Jim cast his mind back to a long time ago, a very long time ago… to old betrayals and old hurts, and people he had tried not to fail, but had been too young and too weak… to people who had failed him, and people who had betrayed him…

And he looked over his shoulder at the lost man trying to follow him and protect him…

And he quietly resolved to take care of this man like a second chance.


End file.
